


Base things

by apacketofseeds



Category: Blackadder
Genre: Canon Divergence, M/M, Prostitution, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 23:06:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14067549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apacketofseeds/pseuds/apacketofseeds
Summary: Desperate, and realising there's good money to be made down the docks, Blackadder convinces Percy to solicit himself instead of Baldrick.(Set during Blackadder II's fourth episode 'Money', in which Blackadder tries to raise funds in order to repay his one thousand pound loan to the Bishop of Bath and Wells.)





	Base things

**Author's Note:**

> Lord Percy Percy has sex with various men for money (which could be seen as slightly dub-con in places) in this fic - please turn back now if that's not something you'd like to read.
> 
> I took liberties with money in this story, forgive me.

Staring into the fireplace, miserable, dwelling on his impending fate, Blackadder considered how unfair his position was. When he’d taken out the loan, the year’s repayment deadline seemed more than long enough. A year was eons of time, enough to blow the entirety of the money on clothes, inexpensive prostitutes, gambling, and all the things he’d promised the Black Monks he wouldn’t. How was he to know a year would come around so quickly? 

This was not how he thought he’d spend his last day upon England’s green and pleasant soil: plan after plan succeeding and then failing, pushing him deeper into a pit of despair and bankruptcy. All his schemes had resulted in nothing and nothing was exactly what would come of Percy reading alchemy tomes and, he could accurately and effortlessly predict, from whatever Baldrick was about to suggest. 

“My lord?”

Turning in his seat, Blackadder sighed wearily. “Yes, Baldrick?”

“Forgive me but, I think I might have a good idea for how to make that thousand pounds.” 

“And what would that be?” He might as well humour him; he had nothing better to do besides mope about his upcoming impersonation of Edward II.

“Well, I have heard there’s good money to be made down the docks.” 

Blackadder arched an eyebrow. “Baldrick. Are you suggesting that I become a rent boy?” 

“Well,” Baldrick continued, oblivious to how insulting his suggestion was to a man of his employer’s standing, “a good-looking bloke like you, posh accent, nice legs, you could make a bomb.” 

Glancing at his legs, Blackadder mentally agreed that they were rather nice. But the very idea was sick and sordid, unthinkable, regardless of how utterly desperate he was. 

“I’d rather die,” Blackadder announced, wondering if he really would prefer receiving the hot end of a poker to the slightly less painful alternative. “If only there was someone else who could…”

Baldrick appeared to have the same thought at the same time, if he was capable of thought at all. Together, they turned to Percy. Reading in the window’s light, oblivious to his new audience, Percy’s maroon hose clung to his long, thin legs, crossed at the ankle and rested on the table. Nice legs, yes. Posh accent, yes. Good-looking… eh. Things were looking up for Percy’s existence not being a total inconvenience for the first time living memory. 

“It’s worth a shot,” Blackadder said, turning back to Baldrick. “Sailors usually only have one eye on average I suppose. Think we’ll have trouble convincing him?” 

“Nah, he’s got an open mind.” 

“Baldrick, Percy’s mind opens more than Mary Magdalene’s legs.” Which might actually work in his favour on this occasion. 

Hearing his name mentioned, Percy perked up like a dog hearing its bowl being filled. Closing his book, he got to his feet and scurried to Blackadder’s side.

“Something I can do for you, Edmund?” 

While Baldrick made himself scarce, aware a delicate discussion was required, Blackadder decided how best to break the plan to an unsuspecting Lord Percy. 

~

Standing on the chilly docks, dressed down in a shirt and breeches and holding a beautifully hand-painted ‘Get it here’ sign, Percy waited for a bite. He looked as nervous as a dog with ten tails between its legs, but Blackadder was confident he’d go through with the plan if they found a willing participant. 

The place was deserted. Warm, rowdy taverns did the best business here. Inside, sailors press-ganged civvies; toothless, dark-clad hags acquired good money for ominous fortunes; bar maids fought off the roving hands of regulars. All potential clients were indoors, avoiding the cold, foggy dock front. Percy couldn’t solicit in a place of business, or any place where he might be recognised. All they could do was hope someone, anyone, would pass by. 

As luck would have it, a naval ship docked after an hour or so. Its diverse crew, a mixture of officers and shabby deckhands, filed slowly along the board ramp onto dry land. Blackadder, who’d hidden around the corner since his arrival, popped his head around the edge of the wall. Once again, Percy had obscured himself behind a stack of barrels awaiting collection and, once again, managed to turn the sign the wrong way. 

“Percy!” Blackadder hissed, shoving the other man forwards with his foot so he might be seen by the landing sailors. “And turn the sign around.” 

“Sorry,” Percy said, laughing worriedly. 

The sudden movement caught the attention of a few men, but it wasn’t enough. Blackadder wolf-whistled loudly, the sound echoing off the dock’s high walls over the cries of gulls. Percy jumped and giggled, blushing like a ripe strawberry as several heads turned in his direction.

A burly, unkempt man took the bait, stopping in his tracks to blink up at Percy’s sign which luckily faced the right way this time. He probably couldn’t read it anyway. 

“Wave at him,” Blackadder advised, slipping behind the wall’s cover again, peeking around the edge with one eye.

“Hello!” Percy snorted, waving his free hand frantically as the man approached. 

Looking him up and down, he asked, “What’s your name then, pretty boy?”

Blackadder popped his head around the corner. They couldn’t go about giving their real names. “Don’t tell him. Make something up.” 

“It’s, uh, P-” Percy’s eyes rolled back as he thought. “P-, P-…” Clearly, the great feat of conjuring any name but Percy was too much of a task. Blackadder wondered if Mother Percy found herself in a similar predicament when the unwanted lump presented itself in her petticoats and ultimately settled on the same name twice. 

“It’s Percy!” Percy looked pleased with himself fleetingly, before the penny dropped. “No! Sorry.” Laughing awkwardly, he tried again. “It’s, um, P-”

“On second thought,” the man interrupted, taking Percy’s hand, “I don’t care what it is. How much you charge for a jolly roger then?” 

“Roger?” Percy asked, confused, possibly because the name didn’t begin with P.

“You know,” the man said, enthusiastically. “To dock my little sailor in your porthole? Sail south? Sink my ship? Scrub your poop deck?” 

Putting a stop to the nauseating nautical nonsense, Blackadder stuck his head around the wall again. “He means sleep with you, Percy.” 

“Oh!” Percy squealed, apparently delighted. “A cuddle and a kip, how lovely.”

Ignoring him, Blackadder came around the corner, revealing himself. “He’s a hundred pounds a pop,” he told the man. Well, it was worth a try. 

“A hundred pounds!” the man said. “As if a deckhand would have that kind of money.” 

“All right, seventy-five. Take it or leave it.” 

“And you’ll be stood there the whole time?” 

“Yep.” 

“Done. I like an audience.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Blackadder said smoothly, never one to let an opportunity evade him. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. It’s a hundred if I’m watching, seventy-five if I’m standing around the corner.” 

“Fine.” Digging a meaty, tattooed fist into his tattered breeches, the man pulled a coin purse from somewhere within and passed it to Blackadder. 

Pocketing it, Blackadder wiped his hand on his thigh and remained where he was. He had never intended to watch the repugnant act, so looked out to sea as the man shoved Percy over one of the nearby barrels. He hoped to find a distraction in the dark distance stretching before him: a candle’s distant flickering on a fishing vessel, an interesting shape in the drifting fog, a seagull crapping into the wind. 

He winced when he heard the vulgar sound of the man spitting into his hand. Closing his eyes, he noticed Percy’s breaths quicken, panicked, a gasp hitching in his throat. The guilt hit Blackadder in the chest like a meaty, tattooed fist. Percy was an imbecilic annoyance, but he didn’t deserve this, even if he promised to do anything to help his dear friend Edmund. It wasn’t, Blackadder hoped, too late to put an end to this. 

Turning his attention to the scene beside him, ready to hand the sailor back his coin, Blackadder saw him make his first assault on Percy’s bare backside. The man’s head dropped back on his shoulders, the thick length of his not-so-little sailor disappearing inside Percy in one slow, steady push. The sight stole Blackadder’s breath and his resolve to call a halt to the proceedings. All he could do was stare. 

Mostly quiet besides a few shaking breaths, Percy took the whole idea like a man, eyes screwed shut. How was he doing this? Mesmerised, mouth open, Blackadder watched the man withdraw, pushing back inside with a grunt as he gripped Percy’s pale thigh. Percy whimpered loudly but Blackadder’s guilt was absent this time.

It was all over very quickly. The man pushed in deep, spending all he had left to give in Percy’s backside while humming in enjoyment. Slipping out and tying his breeches quickly, he nodded towards Blackadder. “Pleasure doing business with you both,” he mumbled, scarpering. 

“There.” Blackadder cleared his throat, voice unexpectedly high. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Coming forwards, he helped Percy up from the barrel. 

“How many more of those do I have to do?” Percy asked, pulling his breeches up with trembling hands, wincing a little while trying to disguise his discomfort. 

“Well,” Blackadder began, his arm around Percy’s shoulder, “unless someone’s willing to pay a more handsome sum, and we’re lucky enough to find others wandering the docks at this time of night who just happen to have vast sums of cash stuffed down their breeches, then nine.” 

“Oh,” Percy said with a little laugh. “Not many then.”

~

A short while later, Blackadder noticed a young gentleman sailor appear on the dock’s edge, looking this way and that. Shushing Percy, halfway through a story about his childhood cat, also called Percy—inventiveness with names seemed to evade all members of the Percy family—he watched to see if the thing the man searched for was what Percy offered and ensured the sign was in view. 

The pristine white ruffs on the sailor’s wrists and neck glowed bright in the moonlight as he turned the corner, craning his neck to get a good look at the men trying their hardest to catch his attention. As he approached, having read the sign, he looked at Percy, then at Blackadder, and inquired as to which man he might get it from. 

“Oh,” Blackadder forced a laugh and stepped back, patting Percy’s shoulder. “This gentleman provides the service, sir. I simply provide his protection.” 

“Protection?” the young man asked, intrigued. 

“As in, I make sure he isn’t taken advantage of.” When the sailor raised an eyebrow, Blackadder clarified: “Any more than he already is, naturally.” 

“I see,” the young man said, pointing. “You’re one of those wicked devils who takes part of the profit for yourself, despite doing none of the work.” 

“Well,” Blackadder chuckled, “I did paint the sign.” He tapped it, smiling smugly, before his face dropped into a serious expression. “He’s a hundred quid.”

After a moment’s thought, the sailor slid a hand into his purse. “I’ll pay your inflated price, procurer, but only if you promise that any gratuity I leave goes into his pocket,” he pointed to Percy, “and not into yours.”

“I assure you, sir,” Blackadder replied, holding out his hand to accept the coins, “anything you wish to put into him remains firmly between you both.” 

“Off with you then,” the sailor said, shooing Blackadder away. 

Bowing with a flourish, Blackadder stepped around the corner to his previous hiding place. As before, he hoped there’d be a distraction of some kind upon which he could focus his mind while the awful act occurred. Percy probably hoped for something similar. Counting the coins was a good start.

“I brought something that will make this… easier,” the sailor whispered, voice drifting around the corner amongst the fog.

Pressing himself against the wall, Blackadder edged as close to the corner as possible without being seen. He heard a bottle uncorking and, shortly afterwards, Percy made a high-pitched sound.

“That’s better,” the sailor said, pleased with himself. “Ready?” 

Percy sounded as nervous as ever. “Mhmm.”

Blackadder predicted this would be when the guilt set in again. From his hiding place, he’d be unable to help Percy if the sailor decided to treat him roughly. What assistance he might offer he couldn’t fathom, seeing as a large cutlass hung from the sailor’s waist for his own protection. He could only hope he wouldn’t rob them afterwards.

“Oh,” Percy breathed suddenly. “Oh. Oh, that’s—” he swallowed loudly, letting out a small gasp, “nice.” 

Clearly, the sailor knew what he was doing. Stuck on a stinking boat for months on end with only men for company, it should have been no great surprise. Blackadder decided not to worry too much; Percy was in good hands. Closing his eyes, he tried not to picture the act occurring just around the corner, but the sailor’s loud thrusts made it quite impossible, each accompanied by a slick noise and a hard slap, forcing loud gasps and sporadic moans from Percy’s chest. 

He covered his ears. What he wouldn’t give for a tidal wave, a brief period of deafness, a plague of Baldricks, anything to avoid hearing a friend, well, Percy, getting buggered over a barrel. But his conscious mind, grappling with his subconscious, lost the battle. However hard he tried to block out the sounds, ignore them at all costs, his cock decided to listen. It decided so ardently it was already trying to escape the swathes of cloth and layered leathers at his groin.

As the sailor’s pace quickened, hard thrusts forcing the barrel to scrape against the stone, Blackadder had to crush his hands between his back and the wall to avoid touching himself. Percy’s compliant whimpering and the sailor’s increasing grunts and groans combined to make an incredibly pleasing melody. 

“Bloody hell!” the sailor announced, ceasing his movement. After a short, stifled sound, he fell silent. 

Banging his head against the wall, Blackadder gathered himself together before stepping around the corner. “All done?” he asked, voice as steady as he could muster. 

The sailor pulled Percy’s shirt over his backside, allowing him some dignity, and nodded. “This is for you,” he said, holding out what looked about fifty sovereigns. 

Red-faced and out of breath, Percy unclamped his fingers from the edge of the barrel and reached out to take the money, wincing from the effort. As soon as the sailor was out of sight, Blackadder snatched it from him. 

“Here,” he said, passing him a flask of water. 

Grateful, Percy accepted it and devoured the contents. “Edmund,” he breathed, chin wet, getting his breath back, “I think two might be my limit.” 

“Don’t give up so easily,” Blackadder encouraged. They were doing far better than he’d expected. “The next one might be different.” 

Percy perked up at the suggestion. “You mean, it might be a woman?”

“Percy, women don’t walk the docks alone at night looking for…” He reconsidered. “Well, if we do see any women, they’ll be competition, not potential business.”

Embarrassed, but taking up the sign from where it leant against the wall, Percy looked down at his feet and asked, sheepish, “What if the next chap hurts me?”

“Then I’ll get Baldrick to beat them up.”

“Seriously, Edmund,” Percy snivelled. “What if they don’t treat me… tenderly?” 

Blackadder doubted any seafaring types were capable of tenderness unless they’d been boiled for forty minutes and served with vegetables. He assured Percy regardless, patting his arm sympathetically. Unable to promise anything, he hoped Percy knew he’d never let anyone damage him, not irreparably anyway.

~

They hadn’t attracted any business in over an hour. Blackadder was beginning to think this might be the end. Leant against the wall, Percy swaying from tiredness beside him, he closed his eyes and yawned a wide, loud yawn. Upon opening his eyes once more, he was shocked to find someone standing in front of him. It was a man, dressed head to toe in elegant, glistening splendour – clearly a nobleman. 

“May I help you, sir?” Blackadder asked, standing and taking up a posture more fitting for the company. 

“I think you may have something I want,” the nobleman said. He spoke as well as he dressed and seemed rather taken by Percy. God knows why. 

Knowing the gentleman would be rich, Blackadder decided to squeeze him for every penny he had.

“Alas,” he began, spinning the story in his head as he spoke. “If it is this man,” —he gestured to Percy— “that you desire, I’m afraid to tell you that this is his last night before…” Covering his face with a hand, he feigned a sob, as though he could barely get his next words out. “Before he is sent to debtors’ prison.” 

“How ghastly,” the nobleman said, raising a gloved hand to Percy’s face. He stroked his cheekbone affectionately and Percy giggled. 

“Therefore,” Blackadder continued, “he must request a larger sum than you, kind sir, usually pay for such services.”

Staring into Percy’s eyes, the nobleman asked, “How much do you need to raise, you poor, sweet soul?” 

Percy darted a look at Blackadder, ignorant of the unfolding scheme. 

“Seven hundred and fifty pounds,” Blackadder answered. 

The nobleman turned to him. “And you are?”

“His lawyer.” When the nobleman threw him a disbelieving look—for why would a lawyer care for a destitute client who’d turned to prostitution?—Blackadder added, “And long-term friend.” Percy smiled at that; he had a great talent for only hearing what he wanted to.

“It is a handsome sum indeed,” the nobleman began, returning his attention to Percy. “Unfortunately, it is not one I am willing to pay for a quick tumble, even with one as delectable as you my darling.” Just as Blackadder was about to tell him to sod off, he continued. “However, there is something…” He stroked Percy’s hair, smitten, smiling when he giggled again. “I enjoy watching others at their pleasure.” Turning to look at Blackadder, he abandoned the sugary tone with which he spoke to Percy. “How would you two feel about putting on a show for me? I assure you, I will pay the full amount you request.”

Speechless from such an indecent proposal, Blackadder considered it. Percy nodded eagerly, as if he believed this to be the best idea ever; he really would do anything to help. The thought of having Percy, and after two others, should have disgusted him. It should and, if he really thought about it, probably did, but he’d already seen and heard him take a man’s cock twice this evening and, though he’d blame it on pure desperation later, he found the thought of it oddly fascinating. 

“We’d need the money upfront,” Blackadder said. 

Immediately, the nobleman handed him a heavy purse of coins. Palming it, Blackadder conceded it felt about seven hundred and fifty pounds.

“Off you go then,” the nobleman said, leaning against the wall and making himself comfortable. 

As Percy bent over the barrel, Blackadder swallowed heavily. Was he really going to do this? Percy peeked over his shoulder, eyes wide with nerves and anticipation, reminding Blackadder of his previous concern about his next partner hurting him. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. Sliding Percy’s shirt up over his back, Blackadder decided to treat him as softly as possible to make up for what he’d already put him through, and erase the guilt he’d felt every time. 

“It’s okay, Percy,” he whispered, sliding the other man’s breeches down. “I’ll be gentle.” 

At that moment, as Percy’s pert behind was put frankly on display, Blackadder remembered Bob. Before knowing he was a she, he’d often thought about what it might be like to bury himself in Bob’s little bottom, until they couldn’t be any closer to each other. What pleasant thoughts they’d been too. He’d never had such thoughts about Percy but, after what he’d seen tonight, he knew he’d cope with this for seven hundred and fifty pounds. It certainly beat the alternative.

Hard from the memory, and equally from the opportunity in front of him, Blackadder freed himself of his codpiece and aligned himself with where he thought he might have to be. Percy was already slick with seed and oil and used to this by now, so there was no need to prepare him. Pushing forwards, Blackadder gasped at how easily he slipped inside, his cock gripped tight by Percy’s warm, plush bottom. He stared down at where they met, where he was comfortably buried, and cursed under his breath. 

Lifting his hips, he started a soft rhythm in and out while the nobleman watched intently. Trying to disguise how much he enjoyed it, Percy pushed his face into the crook of his arm and bit his sleeve. 

“Do not conceal yourself pretty one,” the nobleman said. “I want to see and hear you. I am paying for a show.” 

“Indeed, you are, sir,” Blackadder panted, picking up the pace. There was something comforting about the man’s presence – a reminder that this was purely performance and not isolated desire. 

“Oh, Edmund,” Percy breathed, a great gust of air coming from him as he lifted his head. He shuddered from his head to his toes, grabbed the edge of the barrel and whined loudly. 

At so base an outburst, Blackadder felt all the blood in his body rush to his groin. Percy’s backside trembled, fluttering around him as he pushed in deep. There was no way that was an act. Percy was incapable of playing pretend: he was enjoying this immeasurably. They both were. To make sure, Blackadder thrust in hard.

“Oh!” Percy whimpered, pushing his hips back excitedly. “A-again! Do it again!” 

Glancing at the nobleman, who was occupied by rubbing himself with gusto under his codpiece, Blackadder did as Percy asked. Holding his small waist tightly, he thrust in deep, rolling his hips while remaining buried deep. 

“Sweet Mary,” Percy gasped, pushing his forehead into the wood. “I think I might just…” he trailed off, but Blackadder knew how his sentence was meant to end. 

Repeating the action, Percy shuddered, moaning and blubbing through the pleasure. He shoved his fist into his mouth to stifle it, visibly shaking. Looking down at where they met, Blackadder saw Percy’s hard length, (pressed awkwardly against the barrel), shudder and jerk, long strings of white painting the wood. He felt every spasm of it from inside Percy, his warm buttocks impossibly, deliciously tight. 

Unable to stop himself, Blackadder let go of his every tension and inhibition. For the third and final time that night, a man emptied himself into Percy’s backside. 

~

After a good night’s sleep, Blackadder came down for breakfast with a spring in his step. He looked forward to seeing the look on the bishop’s face when he paid him back the entire loan: disappointment, surprise, disbelief – they’d all be wonderful to behold. 

Percy was reading one of his alchemy volumes by the window again but, this time, he wasn’t sat on the chair. For a reason Blackadder didn’t want to think about, he was propped awkwardly on his side. 

“Good morning, Edmund,” he chirped, looking up from the book. “I think I’ve discovered how to turn base things into gold, if you still need?” Well, they’d managed that last night.

“Percy, unless the Queen summons me to…” Blackadder was interrupted by the sound of the Queen’s messenger entering the room, stamping his foot annoyingly. 

“My lord,” he began, “The Queen doth demand—”

“Here we go,” Blackadder interrupted. “The Queen demands my urgent presence on pain of death, blah blah blah. Wonder how she’ll rob me this time!” 

“No, my lord,” the messenger said, confused. “The Queen doth demand you read this.” Withdrawing a rolled document from his satchel, closed with the Queen’s seal, he passed it over.

Blackadder read aloud:

“Dear Edmund. I’m so very sorry for all the naughty tricks and silly jokes I’ve played on you recently. It was mean and nasty of me. Nursie says I should make it up to you. Please accept two thousand pounds. Buy me something nice.” 

After the messenger boy handed him a giant purse of money, which indeed was heavy and full enough to contain the promised amount, Blackadder scoffed. “Isn’t that funny,” he said, almost to himself. “With this, I can pay off that baby-eating, bible-bashing bastard and then some.” 

“Why is that funny?” Percy asked, oblivious. 

If it hadn’t yet sunk in that their visit to the docks had all been for nothing, Blackadder thought it best not to mention it and leave Percy to his book of nonsense.


End file.
